If you’re too much of a wuss to get your entire arm festooned with tattoos, then you’re probably also wussy enough to buy a Kickin’ Ink Temporary Arm Tattoo Sleeve:

And don’t forget that wristband. Not only does this nylon fakery not work unless the lower edge is concealed (thus avoiding the obvious contrast with the wearer’s real skin), but the whole scumbag-poser look just isn’t complete without a faux-heavy metal accessory.

I assume that the $14.95 price point for these things is aimed toward aspiring douchebags who can’t afford similarly-effecting Ed Hardy clothing.

I don’t consider myself to be overly superstitious. But based on my fashion choices on this Friday the 13th, maybe I am:

First off, I’m wearing Lucky Brand Jeans. I had in mind to wear these today just because they’re comfortable. In light of the date, I guess they also provide comfort against the irrationality of fear of the number thirteen?

As if that’s not bad enough, I’m also wearing boxer shorts with a green shamrock pattern on them. So yes, my underwear matches both the jeans and the day’s unlucky theme.

As silly as it is, at least I’ve got double-layer anti-bad-luck deterrence from the waist down (I’m sure my genitals, ass, and legs are grateful). Unfortunately, my subconscious selection ended there — unless purple is some kind of good-luck color, my shirt’s not going to guard me against any bad mojo. Forces of evil, take note to aim high today!

Is it a sign of continuing lean times when your shoe-cobbling services take twice as long as normal?

Back in May, I took a pair of Allen Edmond shoes back to the store for repairs. They have this Recrafting service, where they ship the footwear back to their warehouse in Wisconsin for a redo of the sole, heel, etc. It’s a bit of a pain waiting weeks for the turnaround, but I’ve done it before, and have been more than satisfied with the results. It’s also one of the few ways in which I exercise frugality where fashion is concerned.

Normally, the turnaround time is about a month. Like I said, a pain, but bearable. This particular time, though, it took a solid two months. I found that to be a bit excessive. When I called to check up on them (and confirm that they hadn’t lost the shoes, or dogged it on shipping them out in the first place), one of the offhand excuses I was given was that the central warehouse was “backed up”.

That got me thinking: It makes sense that, so close to the major economic downturn that was/is the Great Recession, more people would extend the life of their dress shoes rather than chuck them for new pairs. So more shoes get shipped back to Allen Edmond’s mothership for Recrafting, for a third of the cost of new kicks. That creates a backlog, and it takes longer to get those worked-upon shoes back.

Regardless of the reason, I wasn’t happy to be waiting eight weeks to get my brown lace-ups back. I did finally get them today, and my inconvenience was assuaged a bit by the inclusion of a $35 giftcard — which I fully expect to use, as I was planning on getting a new pair of Allen Edmonds anyway (although probably not at the same midtown location, all things considered). I don’t know if this in-store discount apology offering validates or dashes my theory of greater economic forces at play; but I’m sticking with it.

Because that extra-big-iris, doe-eyed anime look is just so dead-sexy, illegal “circle lenses” contacts are making the round amongst fashion-forward ladies:

Now that circle lenses have gone mainstream in Japan, Singapore and South Korea, they are turning up in American high schools and on college campuses. “In the past year, there’s been a sharp increase in interest here in the U.S.,” said Joyce Kim, a founder of Soompi.com, an Asian pop fan site with a forum devoted to circle lenses. “Once early adopters have adequately posted about it, discussed it and reviewed them, it’s now available to everyone.”

Ms. Kim, who lives in San Francisco and is 31, said that some friends her age wear circle lenses almost every day. “It’s like wearing mascara or eyeliner,” she said.

This doesn’t seem all that different from the now-standard colored contact lenses, that went through a fad-fade a couple of decades ago. The accessorizing reminds me of similarly-odd cosmetic trends: Years ago, I knew a group of girls who kept a couple of high-end wigs as part of their wardrobe, because certain outfits they owned didn’t look “right” with their natural hair.

The Japanimation, and even manga, inspiration behind this big-eyed look is telling. It’s too bad the “Little Orphan Annie” comic strip just bit the dust; some creative revitalization-marketing there could have inspired a counter pupil-less eyeball look…

Somewhere in Chelsea this evening, I found myself walking for about two blocks behind a girl named Kyla Alvira.

How did I know her name? It’s not because I knew her, or met her, or happened to hear her name uttered during the walk. It was because she had that name tattooed on her upper back, and was wearing a top that was obviously chosen to display this tattoo.

From this, it was easy to tell that she was proud of both the name and the ink. Although frankly, she shouldn’t have been. The name is fairly juvenile-sounding, a product of a ’90s trend of cutesy female monikers that don’t particularly befit the nameholders when they reach adulthood. Meanwhile, the tattoo was done in an ornate script that already looks kitschy, and definitely isn’t going to get any better-looking with age.

So parents, be forewarned: Choose your daughter’s name wisely. Or else it’ll end up splayed on her skin years later, to everyone’s regret.

You are looking at SkyMall’s exclusive Xlr8 athletic shoe. And yes, you are looking at a sperm-like logo on said sneaker.

I’m guessing the in-flight catalogue just presumes that its target customer is a member of the Mile High Club, and wants to show off that sexual bade of honor via footwear? This certainly beats Nike’s swoosh design, despite the less-than-perfect analogy:

So [sperms'] preferred sport is swimming; it doesn’t make them any less of a workout role model when you’re hitting the streets.

Well, the semen-sprinters might be role models, but I don’t know how much they can teach you about “hitting the streets”. To clear up the confusion, maybe SkyMall should start selling matching Speedos.

Today I turn 39. And the question before me is an unconventional one:

Just how many Caddyshack-inspired t-shirts should one man own?

I have my friend Kirby to thank for that puzzler. Last year, he sent me a nice little Bushwood Country Club tee, which I got a chuckle out of. Perhaps going with what works, this week he sent me, yes, another Bushwood-adorned short-sleever. Different color and logo, of course, but still, with “Bushwood” prominently displayed, along with the movie’s insider joke-tagline, “Some people just don’t belong”.

I appreciate the thought, of course. But really, two Caddyshack shirts for the summer wardrobe? People will start to talk. Not to mention that it’s a bit dated. Not everyone is familiar with a thirty-year-old movie, classic comedy though it may be — just ask any middle-aging corporate cog. To me, it looks to be easily taken out of context. So, really, I’m hesitant to wear this new shirt in public.

I’ll certainly not wear it to my birthday celebration dinner tonight, at NINJA New York. As gimmicky as that maze-adventure-as-restaurant is, showing up in a pop-culturally ironic t-shirt won’t aid anything.

A random tweet from Tara reminded me of this old urban-fashion myth:

In its earlier heyday, rumors about Adidas ran rampant. Most popular was the grinningly-shared tidbit that the appellation stood for “All Day I Dream About Sex.” Whispers had it the shoes’ designers had deliberately chosen the funny-sounding name ‘Adidas’ to convey this teen-centric message in a way that would sail right over unsuspecting parents’ heads. (Then, as now, sneaking a fast one by the ‘rents was all part of the game.)

Such was the appeal of the spurious that few thought to question it. The truth, of course, wasn’t anywhere nearly as exciting. The company was founded in 1924 in Germany and named for its owner, Adi Dassler.

That “earlier heyday” was the 1970s, when I heard this very rumor in grade school. Definitely a good source of pre-adolescent titillation, and in hindsight, quaintly so.

For the record, the company/brand name is officially “adidas”, sans any capitalization. For some reason, that’s part of the corporate history. To perpetuate the acronym-based legend, that all-lower-case preference probably has sexual origins…

While around town today, I saw at least three young women sporting what looked like ballpoint-pen markings on their hands and forearms. From my vantage point, these markings looked like random letter- and number-scribblings — not at all like tattoo or henna patterns, or anything else that might have stylish permanence.

Is this some new trend? I haven’t seen extensive pen-marks on skin since sometime in grade school. Hard to believe they could be making a comeback in this day and age, with so many other, more reliable (mainly digital) ways of recording random information. Maybe they’re emulating Sarah Palin?

A couple of pieces of wall- and window-scrawled graffiti I just spied on the west end of Bond Street that were not artfully-enough presented to be worthy of a photo (especially not with raindrops starting to come down), but whose messages bear recording nonetheless:

EVIL COMING HERE SOON – In a storefront window, anticipating (probably) a boutique to be called, yes, “Evil”.

DRENCH ME WITH YOUR GUCCI SAUCE – On the concrete building wall right next to above window. May or may not be related/inspired by.

The concept of evil, I can grasp. Getting doused by a fashion label? Literally or figuratively, it grosses me out.

As overused as the pun is, I must invoke it: When it comes to fashionable female coiffures, grey is the new, well, y’know.

In embracing a tint their mothers would have shunned, such role models are lending gray new cachet, giving shades from ash to ermine an unlikely fashion moment. Now, some say, the trend, which trickled down from the runways of Chanel, Giles Deacon and their rarefied ilk to fashion hot spots around the country, seems poised to go mainstream.

At Whittemore House, a vanguard salon in Manhattan’s West Village, models and bohemian types began asking for gray streaks about six months ago, said Victoria Hunter, an owner, adding dryly, “When one gets on the bandwagon, they all do.”

Sharon Dorram, an influential New York colorist, said that among her downtown New York patrons, it is mostly younger women, renegade types, who request gray. Not lost on Ms. Dorram is the irony that their older, more conventional counterparts spent $1.3 billion to cover their grays last year, according to Nielsen.

And lest you think that the “April 1″ timestamp on that article marks this as a fool’s prank, note Kate Moss’ “gray lights/highlights” appearance back in January, which apparently kicked off this nascent craze. And which, fittingly, begs the question about the real motivation behind this intentional fade-job:

Now, we’re all for children and 20-somethings running with this trend, and love its originality. But we’re wondering if it’s appropriate for Moss, who recently celebrated her 36th birthday? If you already have a natural few grays, are you too old to wear this style?

I suspect this is the cynical motivation: Co-opting the aged look on your own terms. Women in their late 20s and 30s, who are just starting to detect a strand or two of grey, will gladly accelerate the process artificially, before nature forces it upon them. And if the younger, pre-greying crowd glom onto the style, all the better. The irony of this dynamic will come with age.

Still, what’s next in this effort to “own” the aging process? Are enhanced wrinkles, designer liver spots, and varicose-veined stockings soon going to make appearances on runway-strutting models?

I’d already tweeted this earlier today, but it’s worthy of expanded cross-posting to the mother-blog:

March, the most wardrobe-challenging of months. I’m shiver-cold in the mornings, and sweaty-ish by late afternoons.

It’s the in-between weather that’s not-quite-Winter, and not-quite-Spring, that makes dressing up such an ordeal for this 31-day span. Which, vapidness aside, is why I think that T.S. Eliot was off by a month in his “cruellest” estimation.

The stats don’t lie: This here blog has been getting a distinct uptick in Web traffic over the past couple of days. And the tracking confirms that the reason is the odd little photo above, which I first used on New Year’s Day 2009.

That year-old post pondered the upcoming chronologically-delivered demise of these goofy double-zero party specs. Based on all the Internet searches landing here, I guess party people aren’t ready to give up the ghost on these glasses just yet.

I hope everyone looking for these oh-10 accoutrements finds a source. Obviously, I’m not selling any — heck, I have serious doubts that the photo on display here is even Photoshopped-free. But at least I can provide a point of reference.

And with that, and with the strategically-set timestamp at the foot of this post (think 24-hour time), I’d say it’s time to usher in the new year-slash-decade…

Over the past couple of weeks, it’s slowly dawned on me that many a modern-day woman has a thing for the late Audrey Hepburn.

And why not? A half-century after her iconic turn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Hepburn remains an ideal of simple elegance, eminently approachable and attainable. She evokes a sensibility composed of both sophistication and innocence — a combination that’s considered practically oxymoronic in our more jaded times.

What I can’t figure out, though, is the desire by women to emulate the classic Audrey look, even when it’s not necessarily a natural fit. In separate instances, I’ve been told by female acquaintances (including one via tweet) that they were sold on a dress, hairstyle, etc. because it gave them that Audrey Hepburn quality. In each case, the women in question had physical features that were decidedly unlike Hepburn’s, i.e. curvy, blonde, or olive-skinned. That such a diverse representation of femininity would all aspire to be Audrey says something about the idealization at play.

Along with the real-life examples, I have Penelope Cruz’s recent turn in Broken Embraces on my mind, too. Cruz plays a film-within-a-film role in this movie that’s consciously a Hepburn clone. While she pulls it off nicely, I was reminded that Cruz ordinarily doesn’t come across as Audrey type.

So, what is it? Why does Audrey Hepburn command such devotion among female fans? What’s with all these latter-day Audrey “girl crushes”? My Y chromosome wants to know…

Like a lot of current fashion, my new(ish) winter coat boasts of being optimized for modern-day personal tech, thusly:

One of the interior pockets has a built-in slit, designed to reign in those ever-present iPod/phone headphone cords. Run the cord through that tiny opening, drop the device into said pocket, and no more tangled-up hassles.

Good idea. So why did this coatmaker put a largely decorative button right near this cord-concealing action? It’s right there, on the outer shell of the pocket, in a perfect spot to catch the little bit of wire that’s still exposed. And yes, you guessed it — the earbuds cord connecting my head with my iTouch gets snagged on a regular basis. It’s maybe a little more organized than my usual shirt-pocket placement, but not much.

So much for forward-functional fashion. My search for the ideal ipod-cket continues…

It doesn’t take a shoe fetishist to get wowed over this light-refracting fashion statement for the female foot:

These are shoes that will freak people out. Yes, we know that her “invisible shoe” is basically a wedge made of mirrors, and looks about as comfortable as the inside of Steve Buscemi’s mouth, but there’s really nothing that says “I’m a fashionista” like showing up at a party with your feet gone A.W.O.L.

Pedal camouflage via polished glass. This is what you can expect from a “footwear concept” designer.

There have been so many naked-model ads for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals that this latest one, featuring Joanna Krupa, really shouldn’t cause anyone to bat an eye.

Anyone other than the Catholic League, which objects to the whole ornate-cross-as-angelic-bikini imagery. For that matter, Krupa’s work here does inspire me to convert to Catholicism, animal activism, and blondes — almost.

As for that “Be an Angel for Animals” theme, the heavenly wings seem to be incongruent with PETA’s core values:

Is that angel’s wings made from real feathers???? Oh the horror!

Maybe PETA was so enamored of its takeoff on the Victoria’s Secret iconic Angels campaign that it overlooked bird byproducts (real or synthetic, doesn’t matter in terms of visual messaging) in an anti-cruelty ad. Or else avian suffering doesn’t make the ethical-treatment cut.

If the open-collared look on a shirt or blouse makes you feel a tad too guido or floozy, consider the visual language conveyed by the opposite option:

A fully buttoned shirt is the universal costume symbol for “special.” The buttoned-up look is often shorthand for retarded. (I mean this in the clinical sense.) Think Forrest Gump, Billy Bob Thornton’s Karl Childers in Sling Blade, or Sean Penn in I Am Sam. Slow but sincere, they wish to be perceived as serious, fully integrated citizens — and that top button is the key to what the Project Runway set might call their “image management.”

Nerds, eccentrics, and obsessive-compulsives also mark themselves with this over-buttoning aesthetic.

What’s the common thread? Certainly a general uptightness among these types is at play, but it must be something more than that. Maybe it’s a primal fear of exposing the neck. Or an obsession with completeness for completeness’ sake: Every single button on the garment has to be utilized. The personality profiles sync with those ideas. And others recognize such subtle signals.

This also speaks to how commonplace the top-button-off look has become. Once it suggested a casualness that was against the norm; now, it’s the expected sartorial default. The only exception is the required buttoning for wearing a tie, which lends an overall formality anyway.

It’s Web 2.0 gimmicky as all get-out, but who am I to argue with $85K for wearing a year’s worth of corporate swag?

Jason Sadler, 26, a former marketing professional from Florida, founded his own company, www.iwearyourshirt.com, in 2008 with the idea to wear a T-shirt supplied by any company and then use social media tools to promote the firm.

For his human billboard service, Sadler charges the “face value” of the day so January 1 costs $1, while December 31 costs $365.

Sadler said this may not sound like a lot but it adds up to $66,795 a year if he sells out every day, which he did this year. He also sells monthly sponsorships for $1,500, adding another $18,000 to his income.

The numbers certainly add up. And I commend Sadler for creatively linking the dollar amount with the day-of-year tally. I don’t know how much that’ll be undercut by his 2010 plan: Doubling the sponsorship fee for each day by adding a synchronized second t-shirt wearer in Los Angeles (Sadler’s in Jacksonville). Since the main exposure comes from posting photos online, versus the eyeballs that see the t-shirt on the street, I don’t see much advantage to having more than one person wear a shirt.

It’s working so far, though. And whenever the gimmick crashes and burns, at least these two guys will have a year’s supply of t-shirts to keep their wardrobes full.

Over the weekend, I got my hair cut. Nothing remarkable about that, except that it was the first time in more than two months. Yes, I was well overdue, and I do not carry the shaggy look particularly well.

So I was glad to shed the overgrown follicles. As a bonus, I had a quippy response for the inevitable question I knew I’d be asked:

Them: Did you get a haircut?
Me: Yep. Got ‘em all cut.

A goofy joke, but a good one. I remember when I first encountered it: Hand-lettered in word balloons, in a neat-looking black-and-white cartoon poster that I bought toward the end of high school. It was a quirky piece of mass-produced pop art, and for some reason, it resonated with me enough that I bought it, and can remember it pretty clearly so many years later.

I did some search-engining just now in the hopes that an image of that long-ago poster would magically pop up. Alas, I’m afraid the Internet didn’t yield that artifact from my past. The closest I came was the drawing embedded here, which I’m sure is by the same artist who did the poster — the linework is distinctive enough, and perhaps not coincidentally, the original image file was called “haircut”. It’ll have to do.

Nothing says “girly geek” quite like this homemade dress, no doubt inspired by countless hours of Tetris-playing. Frenetic block-dropping never looked so fashionable!

(Via dustbury, who I’m betting saw the same tweet that I did on this)